


Bonne Dégustation

by wreathed



Category: British Comedy RPF, Just Puddings (Web Series), Off Menu with Ed Gamble and James Acaster (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Food, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 17:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18348734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: James is staying with Ed and Nish post break-up. Ed decides to cook James something to cheer him up.





	Bonne Dégustation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suricatta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suricatta/gifts).



> Thanks for the premise, [suricatta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suricatta).

“This is tragic to watch,” Nish murmurs to Ed, as they observe from a safe distance James swearing and hurriedly opening and shutting various food cupboards. They’re standing up; James hasn’t folded their sofa bed he’s staying on back up yet. “It’s like when Attenborough tricks you into siding with the prey and then you’re helplessly forced to watch it suffer.”

James is checking in on some bacon he’s shuffled around the pan. The bacon has already burned. Coming from somewhere, there is the smell of singed sausages.

“He’s only just graduated from a monotrophic diet of Ben & Jerry’s,” Ed mutters back to Nish. “I thought it would be good for him to cook something.”

“Mate,” Nish says, just as James knocks a bottle of cooking oil over with his elbow.

“Maybe I should make everyone dinner tonight.”

“I’ve got a gig.”

“Just for the two of us, then,” Ed says. From behind the cooker hood, James gives a huffily dramatic sigh and finally shuts off the hob.

*

Grateful he has the afternoon and evening free, Ed ambles to a local deli he likes and buys ingredients for a teriyaki salmon stir fry he’s made loads of times before – nothing fancy, just something he knows James will like. He also picks out an enormous, elaborate religieuse pastry for James from the fancy bakery next door.

It’s definitely a good idea; the natural next stage. He’s let James drink himself into self-flagellating oblivion (on Ed’s wine, thank you very much), he’s given him a place to stay, they’ve watched a film together where loads of people die, and they’ve been right through the anatomy of the break-up with surgical precision – during which James had looked so _lost_ in moments, like what, Ed, if he’d only been more like this or done less of that, and Ed had wanted desperately to put an arm around James’s shoulders to reassure him, but he hadn’t.

Now James seems to be feeling a little better, and yesterday had even laughed once or twice at Ed’s stupidest jokes, but he’s still quite gloomy, and his cooking has self-evidently not improved since Ed last saw him attempt any. So he would surely appreciate food being taken care of for one evening, and getting to eat something relatively healthy in comparison to takeaway pizza.

 _Notwithstanding,_ Ed thinks, looking down at the paper bag he’s holding from the bakery, _the sugar hit as a reward at the end_.

*

James gets in after several hours of development meetings looking fed up and tired, the skin under his eyes all light and papery. He flops down on the sofa bed (still a bed, not a sofa, even though it’s seven p.m.) and groans, looking up at Ed slightly like he wants Ed to go away but he’d never be so impolite as to tell Ed to leave his own living room.

Ed wishes James didn’t always look so affected by things. It makes him seem very vulnerable.

“I thought you had a gig tonight,” James says, frowning at where Ed is chopping up vegetables at the kitchen counter.

“That was Nish,” Ed says. “I’m making you dinner.”

“Oh,” James says, momentarily looking close to threatened, but then he seems to relax, distractedly messing up his hair with one hand. “Thank you. It smells delicious.”

“I haven’t started cooking anything yet,” Ed says, finding himself smiling. “But thanks.”

The dining table’s only big enough to sit two, so Ed’s put their plates opposite each other, and put two wine glasses out, but it’s not _romantic_ , in the same way that lots of occasions where two people eat together aren’t romantic – when two presidents of allied countries have a private meal at the White House or wherever, it’s not romantic, is it – but, still.

Ed wonders whether James will think anything of it, then decides he probably won’t, because James is a man who in the past hasn’t recognised romantic come-ons even when they’ve got right up and slapped him in the face.

*

They don’t stick the TV on (not _not_ romantic, Ed thinks distantly) and have a good time talking about fledgling material, dream menus, stupid shit, and Ed watches how James smiles after his first forkful, thanking Ed sincerely, and how the wine gently stains the middle of James’s mouth as they eat.

“You haven’t got anything for yourself?” James asks when they’ve cleared their plates and Ed triumphantly brings out the pastry in its artfully-branded individual cardboard box.

“I’ll just finish off the wine,” Ed says. “But I thought you deserved a treat.”

“Thank you,” James says, heartfelt, and Ed feels something in his stomach that’s nothing to do with the food untether a little further. 

Ed sits back down opposite James, then watches him prod the top of the religieuse with the end of his little finger, as if he’s not quite sure how to tackle it. 

“So, you’re just going to sit there and stare at me while I eat this monstrosity, are you?” James says, not quite looking at Ed. “Normally when you’re eating with another person they’re also eating something as well. I don’t want to be judged. Do _not_ take any photos.”

“No judgement,” Ed says. “I promise. And my phone’s still on the kitchen counter.”

That’s when James looks down at his hand and realises he’s got a bit of ganache smudged on the tip of his finger. He raises his hand to his mouth and licks the ganache off. Ed gives a nervous cough.

“God, that’s good,” James says, and goes straight back in to rip off the top choux. He sinks his teeth in through the crème pâtissière and Ed forgets entirely about busying himself with pouring another glass of wine.

“Ed,” James says once he’s swallowed, and Ed manages to make a brief sound to show he’s listening. “Do you like watching me eat?” He sounds cautious and… not perturbed, exactly, just a little surprised.

“I guess I like that I’ve done something for you,” Ed says quietly. “And that you like it.”

“Oh,” said James simply, and they sit in intense, excruciating silence as James finishes off the pastry, bite by bite. Ed feels the sweat on his palms, the distracting hot tightness of being turned on and unable to do anything about it. When James has finished, Ed takes the almost-empty wine and finishes the rest straight from the bottle.

“I’ve been thinking that I’ve been feeling too down about all of this,” says James abruptly, pushing his chair back from the table. “I think we should be _celebrating_ me breaking up with someone.” 

“Celebrating?” Ed says cautiously. He feels like he’s about to jump out of his own skin if James doesn’t just—

“Yeah,” James says, and he stands up and walks over to where Ed’s sitting. But he can’t quite do it. He just stands there.

Ed reaches out in one jerky movement and puts his hand just below James’s waist (why did he put his hand _there_?), then looks up at James’s parted lips.

“I didn’t think you’d be ready yet,” Ed says, committing to memory how his hand feels there, surprisingly large and warm against James’s bony hip. “Or if you’d want to, this time.”

“No, I… I want to,” James says, eyes jamming shut. “I want you to,” and that’s enough for Ed to stand up fast enough to get light-headed and kiss James hard.

When they kiss, forget what came before; Ed can only taste the sweetness.

“Beats your moping, this celebrating,” Ed says, his voice coming out odd because he’s mashed against James’s lips, and now James is certain Ed wants this (how could he have not noticed), James is at last the one to kiss him.

They stand tight together in Ed’s living room for a few moments more; Ed can feel pushed against his own erection, with a jump of nervous excitement, that James is already as hard as he is. James’s hair had looked quite ratty and uncared-for today, Ed had thought, but it feels soft under his fingers.

“God. I can’t…” James breathes. He’s very quiet and close in Ed’s ear, even though they’re alone. “You’re going to be disappointed. I haven’t had a, you know, since I started staying here. No privacy, too much misery.”

“You haven’t been _wanking_?” Ed asks, slightly disbelievingly. He hadn’t considered the logistics, but it’s not like James has never been alone in the flat, nor has the lock stopped working on the bathroom door. Ed thoughtfully drags his palm down to the distended fabric of James’s trousers, exploratory, lingering because of how James has to take in another deep, shaky breath of air because of it.

“Got myself off first thing this morning, if I’m honest,” Ed says, and James stares at him, briefly looking as if he can’t believe the cheek of Ed’s decadence. It makes Ed smile. “But I’ve been hard again ever since you looked at me so _gratefully_ ,” and, he can’t help it, he goes back for James’s mouth again.

“I’m not going to be disappointed,” Ed tells him when they break apart. “You fucking idiot.”

Then Ed sits back down on his chair, neatly opens the front of James’s trousers, grasps James’s cock by the base and takes the rest in his mouth.

Above him he feels the curving movement of James’s spine, the nature of the tension change within him, and hears him moan out in surprise. It’s been so long since Ed’s felt this kind of rush, this heat. He closes his eyes and sucks gently, feeling the fullness of what he’s doing, the closeness.

“W-wait,” James says breathily, and Ed pulls away and looks up at James, whose face and neck are flushed. The taste of his pre-come is still prevalent in Ed’s mouth.

“Were you not enjoying that,” Ed says, not sounding convinced, fighting the probably-immoderate desire to nestle his face back against James’s crotch and tease him very, very slowly.

“Don’t make me say what I want,” James says. His eyes have gone all dark. “You know I can’t… You know what I want, anyway.”

“Do you want us to go to my room? Or do you want this to stop?”

James takes a deep, steadying breath. “I was enjoying that _too much_ , is what I meant. Plus, what if Nish gets back early?” James asks, relief flooding into Ed as James looks down at him with an expression that appears to be something like deadpan fondness. “You nutter.”

Ed stands up, aware of the weight of his own erection as he does so. “I could have got you off twice in one evening, you know,” Ed says, mostly to watch James’s mouth twitch. “It’s not illegal. You’re a young, sprightly lad; I reckon you could manage it.”

“Thanks,” James says, sarkily sibilant at the end of the word.

Ed supposes, when it comes down to it, James Acaster wasn’t really an orgasm-while-standing-in-the-middle-of-a-shared-space kind of guy. But that doesn’t stop Ed going slightly mad thinking how much, by now, James must want it. He’s been living here for almost a _week_.

Not trusting his surroundings, James then modestly pulls up and holds the waistband of his trousers with his hand and furtively stalks off (with some difficulty, due to his sizable hard-on) to Ed's bedroom. Ed smiles to himself as he follows. He loves… He loves when James is like that.

“I don’t even know how you stood there like that earlier, just before we kissed,” Ed says once he’s shut his bedroom door behind them. James is sitting on the very edge of Ed’s bed, hair sticking up at the back. “I couldn’t wait for it.”

“Do you ever shut up,” James sighs, like he doesn’t believe him, but then they’re quiet for a while after that because they spend a while kissing on Ed’s bed, divesting each other of their clothes, Ed feeling blood rush through him every time James makes any sort of unthinking sound of pleasure.

By the time they’re both naked, Ed’s on his forearms and knees over James and he’s desperately turned on. He’s deliberately ignored their dicks for a while because of how close James had been to coming, but when he gazes down to where James’s cock is leaking against his stomach, God, he wants it in his hand, he wants… stupid things.

“Have you got a condom,” James mumbles, and even with that he struggles a bit, he won’t fucking _say_ what he _wants_ —

“Yes, I have condoms,” Ed says side-eying towards the wall and clambering off the bed to get to his bottom drawer. “Because this is my own room.”

“You’ve learned from my experiences, I see,” James says, and Ed laughs. 

He gives James’s cock one last suck, mostly to hear him gasp and feel the surprised push up of his hips. Then he unwraps the condom.

“Ed, please,” James says. His eyes are closed again.

“What do you want?” Ed says, sitting up on the bed, letting one of his hands rest on James’s stomach so that his nails dig in just slightly to James’s skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“You _know_ ,” James says. “Don’t make me say it.”

And Ed hasn’t made him say it before, he thinks, sitting there, hard and holding an unwrapped condom, but this is the best chance he’s got, because James looks like if he doesn’t come soon he might _cry_.

“Tell me what you want, otherwise nothing else is going to happen.”

There’s a determined line to the tension in James’s jaw, but Ed lets the pads of his fingers splay across James’s belly, and he waits.

“I want to be fucked,” James says in a tiny voice, and it makes Ed’s stomach turn over. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh my God,” Ed says, feeling slightly like he’s going to fall apart, before flinging the unused condom in the direction of the wastepaper basket and going back to the drawer for lube. “You look so good; _so_ good.”

He does it quickly: kneels up at the foot of the bed, two fingers into James when he’s still on his back, watching him open up and squirm. “You take my fingers perfectly,” Ed says, and no, he’s not going to shut up, because this way he’s going to drive James absolutely insane, as mad as he feels himself. “You’re going to take my cock even better.”

“Better than perfect?” James manages from somewhere far away, sounding slightly sceptical, but whines from a third blunt finger, letting go a little further.

Then Ed has to stop to get another condom (“see, James, this is why you want to make sure that you have two on you at all times, maybe even three or four if you’re feeling ambitious”) and put it on (he feels a wave of brief, nauseous desire to not put it on, to do without it, but he doesn’t, he doesn’t) and then Ed grabs James’s slim thighs and slides in, having to wait inside him, for a second, to make sure _he_ doesn’t come too quickly.

“I love watching you take it,” Ed says as he fucks into him, and James looks at him pleadingly as another dribble of pre-come leaks out of his cock, which neither of them are touching. “This is what you want. I’m going to give you what you want.”

Ed thinks he can – this is what he’s aiming for, at least, he might understand James well enough now – build up to his own orgasm and then squeeze James’s cock just right so he comes straight after, Ed still inside him, but James is so difficult to read in this context because he never bloody says anything; he keeps closing his eyes, but whether out of perceived humiliation or closeness to overstimulation it’s hard to tell.

“You’re so good at this,” Ed tells him. “Tight and hot and so good for me.”

James’s face is unforgettable like this: flushed high on his cheekbones, sweat shimmering at his hairline, mouth slightly open, panting. With a spike of guilt-fed pleasure, Ed turns over in his mind a well-worn fantasy. But it’s not the right time.

He gets his hand around James’s cock and watches him shudder into the touch, shift against where Ed’s inside him.

“I want you good and full,” Ed says, and James moans again, then seems to hear himself, because he covers up his face with his arm, then deigns to peek over it.

“Oh no, you can’t just fuck me in silence like a normal person,” James says, then gives out a guttural groan and moves his arm away from his face as Ed hits him deep again. “You’ve got to tell me—”

“I want to come on your face,” Ed blurts out, and that’s when James comes all over Ed’s hand.

Ed, still hard and right inside him, makes himself slide out with some effort, feeling achingly desperate and a confusing rush of longing.

“It _is_ normal,” Ed says. “It’s completely normal to say stuff and it’s completely normal to want someone to come on your face.”

James, eyes closed from the release of orgasm, slowly opens them and stares at Ed thoughtfully for a full five seconds. Then his eyes flick over Ed’s body to where his hand is still stickily clasped around James’s softening cock.

“I want you to,” James says.

“Well, it’s fine; you’ve already come now,” Ed says. “Which was… it’s more than fine, that was fucking hot, actually, and I don’t want to freak you out, so if you’ll now just let me quickly—”

“I still want you to. Now, right now,” James says shortly. “Please.”

James looks up at Ed, still red-faced, and he looks so _ruined_ already, and even though James has already come he _still wants it_ , still wants Ed, and the desire to ruin him a little further is overwhelming.

Ed’s not a saint, especially when there’s such a clear invitation. He kneels either side of James’s shoulders, the top of his thighs tight together, pulls off the condom and pulls on himself until his come hits James’s face, covering his lips and left cheek. When he’s finished, Ed stays like that, eyes not leaving James as he waits for his heartrate to go down.

“Fuck,” James says emphatically, looking, despite having Ed’s come all over his face, the most relaxed he’s seemed in a long time. Ed runs his finger through it, gently tracing James’s cheekbone and feeling a rush of conflicted affection, before grabbing a tissue and helping James wipe his face clean.

“No problem,” Ed says. “Glad to help a friend out.”

“Not just that,” James mumbles near-indecipherably, half into the pillow. “I came straight here, y’know? I already knew your address when I had to type it in for the pizza. No-one else’s.”

Ed knows that Nish will notice that James isn’t sleeping in the living room when he gets in, but he can’t bear to kick James out when he looks like this – marked and messed-up, relaxed, happy. And James is staying with Ed, for as long as he needs to. His friend, sometimes more than that, and now is one of those sometimes.

“OK,” Ed says, carefully getting into bed beside James and watching him start to fall asleep. “Good.”


End file.
